


keep you safe, keep you sound

by mendeshoney



Category: Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 20:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21214508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mendeshoney/pseuds/mendeshoney
Summary: Shawn's always there when you wake up.





	keep you safe, keep you sound

**Author's Note:**

> These past couple of weeks I’ve been having frequent nightmares, and this is me just writing about them I guess. This is the nightmare I had last night/this morning that had me up at 5:30am EST. Obviously Shawn wasn’t there when I woke up, but what he does is sort of inspired by what my boyfriend does when I have nightmares.

You’re in the backseat of a car, unsure of who’s driving because you’re sitting behind them, but you know that you know them, you can feel it. You also know that you know this car, because it feels familiar, but you can’t quite place who it belongs to. Your mother is in the passenger seat, and seeing her provides you comfort, on top of the fact that your boyfriend is in the middle seat next to you, and one of your friends on the other side of him.

Outside of the car, to the right, you’re passing a tall structure, the walls high and made of…cobblestone?

It’s a ballpark. Not a professional one by any means - it’s much smaller, maybe meant for middle school and high school games, and in the back of your mind, you recognize the place.

As the car takes a right and rounds the corner, the wall stops and it opens up into the back patio and open grass area. The food window is closed, patio tables are out, and you’re confused by the display of mannequins that are precariously placed at these patio tables in different poses. They’re covered head to toe in the same baseball looking gear, the only thing exposed is their face, or lack thereof, you should say. They’re faceless, and white, like those Styrofoam heads you see in craft stores. Something about them is suspicious, and as the car continues to go, you can’t help but turn your head to look out the back window, watching them, waiting. Your mother does the same, watching them from the right side mirror of the car.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you see one of them stand up and move, looking back at the other mannequins, who are still un-moving. It’s unnatural, it’s wrong, and overall, it’s _scary._

The car is far enough away that you don’t think the mannequin knows you know, but the audible gasp that left your mother’s mouth is enough to make you whip your head around to her, letting her know that you both saw the same thing. Everyone in the car is asking you what’s wrong, and a deep and terrible panic starts to set in, a strangled noise leaving your mouth, throat suddenly too dry to talk that all you can do is nod and whimper, staring at your mother who shares an equally fearful look, her body turning so she can rest a hand on your knee.

You can’t breathe suddenly, tears starting to spill over as your heart pounds heavy in your chest, and you brace your left hand against the door handle, and you can feel your boyfriend lace his fingers through your right hand, trying to ground you, trying to calm you down, but it’s no use.

The panic, the fear has you pushing against the handle and his hand, arms straightening, body rising slightly upwards in your seat, but you can’t go anywhere, like your legs and ankles are handcuffed in place, and you feel like water is filling the car at lightning speed, your neck craning upwards, nose brushing against the roof as you take that last breath before the water rises to the top and completely envelopes you, eyes shutting closed, drowning you in fear.

And then you’re awake.

Your eyes shoot open, being met with the darkness of your bedroom. Your heart is still pounding so hard in your chest you think it might burst out of your ribcage. The dryness of your mouth and throat is still there, and your breathing is heavy, but you lie still. You aren’t paralyzed to the bed, but you’re still trying to process, trying to calm the ebbing flow of fear still in your veins, trying not to disturb the other occupant in your bed, whose head is resting on your chest.

But in truth, Shawn’s already awake. The minute he heard your heart start to race under his ear he woke immediately, body attuned to yours, tightening his grip around your middle, reaching over your torso and lacing his left hand with your right and squeezed. He knew you were asleep, knew that the slight jolts in your body, the way your cold feet kicked at his shins, the noises leaving your throat - they were all tell tale signs that you were having another nightmare.

(It would be the fourth one this week - the other three being two nights ago, in succession. You woke up at six thirty after the third nightmare that night, body thrashing as Shawn wrapped an arm around you, and whispered to you that he was here, that you were fine, that you were okay because he was right there to protect you. And you were too tired, too terrified to go back to bed and so he held you as he slept, keeping you locked in a vice grip until you dozed off and woke up peacefully at ten.

And really, he’s gotten used to it, this being about the third week in a row that you’ve had nightmares on a somewhat consistent basis, waking up every so often with a start, Shawn being right there to calm you down and coax you back to sleep as best as he possibly can.)

Your breathing had quickened in time with your heart until he felt the change, your body stilling, breathing becoming controlled and heart rate slowly decreasing under his ear. Gently, he turns his head into your chest and kisses softly, his lips meeting the worn cotton of his shirt that donned your body. 

A sigh escapes your nostrils, and he adjusts, rolling onto his back and taking you with him, pulling you into his side where he wraps his arms around you and keeps you close, pressing soft kisses to your forehead as you try to focus on the way that the warmth of his body seeps into your own and brings you back to center.

Shawn lays with you like that for another minute before tapping your arm twice, and you nod gently, allowing him to pull you both up until he’s sitting, back against the headboard as you curl into his side, his large hands taking yours and spreading your fingers out.

“Count with me,” he says, voice rough from sleep, but confident. You nod, and he starts at your pinky on your left hand, going from left to right and together you count all ten of your fingers, letting you know that you are indeed awake and your nightmare is over, Shawn placing a gentle kiss to the backs of your hands when you finish. He pulls you back to his chest, rubbing circles with his thumb onto the skin of your hip.

You feel weak a little bit, knowing that it’s not your fault, but the fact that your dreams are so out of control lately that you not only scare yourself awake, but that you wake Shawn up as well was terrible.

Between your stress - with classes, jobs, midterms, graduation on the horizon, applying for graduate school, maintaining good grades, going to dance practice - and Shawn’s stress - the two singles, constant interviews, TV appearances, the album release, preparing for the tour, all of this promotion, travelling - you know that you both need at least three days worth of sleep.

You were hoping that spending his month off together would be good, but thus far it’s mostly consisted of you waking the both of you up in the middle of the night, and you both going back to sleep and waking up again with most of the day gone away.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, burying your face into his shoulder, voice shaky with emotion.

He shakes his head, lips gifting another kiss to your forehead. “Don’t apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Shawn pauses for a second, before offering “do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head. “It was just scary. That’s all.”

“Was I there?”

“You were.”

“Was I helping? Or hurting?”

“Helping,” you say honestly. “But there’s only so much you can do in a dream, Shawn.”

He chuckles softly, and pauses again, resting his head atop yours. “Do you know why they’re happening so frequently? Your nightmares?”

“Stress?” You assume. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember a lot of them when I wake up, I just know that in the moment, I’m terrified, and then when I wake up, it’s gone, but I’m still afraid.”

He doesn’t say anything for a bit, and you think maybe he’s starting to doze off again, but then he says, quietly, “It worries me.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing tight. “I don’t mean to. I think once things calm down, maybe once summer rolls around it’ll be better, and it won’t be so terrible.”

“I hope so. I hate that I can’t do anything about it, that I can’t protect you from it or stop it.” He sounds so defeated.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, Shawn.”

He scoffs, but it’s not malicious. “Well it’s not yours either, you know.”

“I know,” you say. “But they happen. I wish they didn’t, but they do, and they’ll go away.” Even you don’t feel confident when saying it, given the frequency of your nightmares, but you have hope, and that gives Shawn some too.

You’re both quiet after that, wrapped up in each other and trying to relax. Eventually, Shawn maneuvers, laying you both back down into a comfortable position, him spooning you from behind and burying his nose in the nape of your neck. Minutes tick by and you can tell that Shawn is on the verge of falling asleep again, but you know you won’t be able to. 

You wait until the soft snores spill through his lips before untangling yourself, quietly padding to the living room. You turn the TV on low, flipping to hockey highlights before making yourself a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen.

You eventually settle on the couch, laying the throw blanket from the back of the couch on top of you as you rest your head on a throw pillow, taking gradual sips from your mug. Call it comfort, but the sounds of skates, sticks, and commentary paired with hot chocolate become a monotonous drone that lulls you to sleep, having enough time to set your empty mug on the table before shutting your eyes.

This time when you wake up, you’re closer to the edge of the couch than you remember, body significantly warmer and its then that you realize that Shawn is behind you, arm slung around your middle, his back flush against the back of the couch and you’re pressed flush against him, blanket slung around both of your hips. You smile - knowing he probably woke up to find out where you’d gone, and when he found you, joined you in hopes to prevent another nightmare.

You turn in his arms, careful not to wake him but it doesn’t work. He’s jolting awake and his grip becomes even tighter, eyes blown wide when he says “you’re okay honey, I’m right here, it’s okay, you’re safe.” His large hand comes up behind your head and presses it to his chest, and you giggle, kissing his skin.

“I’m awake Shawn, I’m okay.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Still not letting you go. Now shhh, go back to sleep.”


End file.
